


Family Portrait

by effingbirds



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effingbirds/pseuds/effingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of caryl one-shots exploring their relationship, potentially branching out to their relationships to other characters in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pecans

They sit side by side in his bed, naked as the day they were born. The pecans he found on a run made for a surprisingly good post-coital snack, but Carol doesn't seem too focused on eating them.

“Three times,” she says almost wistfully, tipping her body toward his.

“What?” 

“You made me come three times,” she says, grinning.

He squints at her, and then licks the residue from the pecans off his fingers. She watches him, distracted for a moment.

“Ain't no big deal,” he says.

She huffs out a laugh. “It is though.”

He shrugs, and looks away. She hesitates before speaking again.

“Not to break bedroom etiquette by bringing up my dead husband, but that's three times more than Ed ever got me off during our entire marriage. You're like... the Carol Peletier orgasm World Record holder.”

He laughs and finally looks back at her, eyeing her with interest.

“Well, let's see if we can't break that record,” he says, and reaches for her.


	2. Something

He was used to her wandering into his cell, uninvited. Most people would receive an angry glare for invading his personal space, but she was good enough at gauging his moods to know when he wanted company, and when he wanted to be left alone.

Most of the time she’d hover briefly at his door, testing the water for a moment before moving in, but on this particular day she barreled in, not pausing to see if he was ok with it, and flopped gracelessly at his feet on the mattress. She buried her face in the blankets without even looking at him. Luckily for her, he was in a good mood.

“Might want to be careful where you throw your temper tantrums,” he said, prodding her shoulder with his toes. “My feet smell.”

The only response he received was a grunt. Well, ok.

She was usually pretty forthcoming with her problems, and it took him a moment to realize that she probably wanted him to ask what was up. He hated dealing with women sometimes.

“What happened?” he asked, after the silence stretched on too long.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice muffled by the mattress.

He sighed, annoyed by her answer, and she finally looked up at him, an unidentifiable look on her face.

“Did you know you have a bit of a fan club?” she asked before bunching the blankets up to hide her face again.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Normally this was the sort of thing she’d tease him about, so he didn’t understand why she was avoiding his eyes. The tips of her ears turned red.

“There’s a handful of women from Woodbury who want you. They have a bet going to see who can get into your pants first.”

He snorted, uncomfortable. The majority of the newcomers seemed intimidated by him, and usually went to Rick first with any problems. He hadn’t noticed any of the women trying to make moves on him, and he wondered if maybe he was just that oblivious toward their advances.

“What do you care?” he asked, “I ain’t interested in any of them.”

“Because I overheard them talking about you. One of them brought me up, and said I seemed the closest to you, but I wasn’t any kind of ‘competition’ because I’m too old and boring.”

He froze and watched as her shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d never given much thought to how their relationship was viewed by outsiders. Even the people in their original group seemed unable to classify it. It didn’t really concern him.

“Why do you care?” he asked, and she suddenly rolled over and sat up.

“Because I’m your – something!” she practically yelled, throwing her hands up in frustration.

And she was… she was his “something.” Even he was unable to define their relationship, but for a long time it had teetered between a deep friendship, and something more.

She frequently crawled into his bed on cold nights, and they’d sleep pressed together in a way that wasn’t quite platonic. He was always surprised that it felt comfortable, rather than awkward like he’d expect.

And he’d gone to her the night after his brother died, and cried into her chest as she held him and stroked his hair. He hadn’t even considered seeking solace in anyone else.

Hell, they’d even shared a few chaste kisses, although they usually resulted in a few days of awkward avoidance. He figured they were both just too chickenshit to attempt anything else, too afraid to destroy what they had.

So maybe they hadn’t exactly gotten hot and heavy with each other, but he liked what they had, and he didn’t understand why she apparently thought these new women were a threat to her relationship with him. He told her as much.

“I don’t like the idea of having to defend myself against these people,” she said, “It’s…. degrading.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied, “Who cares what they think?”

“Imagine it was the other way ‘round though,” she said, “Imagine I had a half dozen men who sat around discussing what I would be like in bed, and making disparaging remarks about why you weren’t good enough for me. Imagine that they even made a pact with each other that the first person who got to fuck me would spare no details when he informed the rest of the group.”

His mind went blank. The two of them were both such private people, and the idea of people who were practically strangers talking about them that way was, as she said, sort of degrading? Infuriating? Not good, anyway. Suddenly he saw her point.

“They probably do,” he said, trying to sound unaffected despite the sick feeling rolling through his gut. He couldn’t imagine her with anyone else. He didn’t want to.

She stared at him, lips parted, before finally looking away. He muttered a curse as she moved to stand up, and that was when he realized that this was it, the thing he had been avoiding out of fear. They’d never discussed their feelings, and he’d never really thought they needed to. But apparently she didn’t agree with that sentiment, and he had to stop her from leaving or that window of opportunity would close.

He knew why they’d avoided crossing that boundary… but suddenly it all seemed too easy. Reaching out to her came naturally, without any thought. And when he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, there wasn’t the flash of panic he’d always expected. Instead there was a calmness that came over him as she pressed against him.

“If you want,” he said cautiously, “I can go out there right now an’ set the record straight. We can make some kind of declaration, and walk around holdin’ hands and kissin’ in public like Glenn and Maggie do. Is that what you want?”

She shook her head hesitantly.

“Then how ‘bout we stop giving a shit what everyone else thinks. Fuck ‘em. I ain’t going after any of them Woodbury women, or anyone else. You’re with me. I don’t need no one else.”

She smiled at him, and pressed her lips to his. It was yet another one of their chaste kisses, but somehow he didn’t mind. He knew the rest would come eventually. They didn’t feel the need to tear off each others’ clothes, or have crazy sex so loud that the rest of the cell block would hear. What they had was still slowly building, but it was comfortable. For now he was more than happy to just be her something.


	3. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy.

He’d been out on his own for two weeks when he found the car. It was just as Rick had described when Daryl dragged the details out of him, but he wouldn’t have needed the description anyway. His name was scrawled across the windshield with a window marker.

She wasn’t in the car, which was somewhat of a relief. He half expected to find her holed up in it, nearly dead or dead or something in between. But when he opened the door, all he found was a note sitting on the driver’s seat.

His heart raced as he snatched it up and began to read.

_“Oh God, what do I even say?”_ it began, without preamble.

_“I fucked up, obviously. I don’t know what Rick’s told you. I don’t know if you’d believe me if I told you the truth. Everything I did was done with the best intentions. Funny how that blew up in my face._

_I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid. I tried to put on a brave face when Rick was saying those awful things to me, because I’m sick of letting men make me feel weak. But I have nothing to hide from you. You know me._

_I’m trying to be strong. I’m trying to remember the things you taught me, and the things I picked up on my own during that first awful winter. I’ve done well so far, but in this world ‘so far’ means just that. Who knows how long it will last?_

_This is stupid. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, and everything I haven’t done. I hope you know how much you mean to me. I hope you know what a wonderful person you are. No one’s ever stuck up for me and taken care of me the way you have. Don’t ever doubt yourself. I know you’ll probably never find this, but I pray that you will, if only because you deserve to know._

_I’d tell you where I’m going, but I don’t know. I’m thinking I’ll head west first, but who knows how far I’ll get. I hope we find each other again some day._

_Stay safe, Pookie._

_Love, Carol”_

He smoothed the letter out across his knee, and came to a decision. He was going to go find her, and nothing would stand in his way until he did.


	4. Debussy

Despite the labyrinth of halls, the group had decided that the school building was a good place to settle down for a few days. They'd all been at each others' throats lately, and the privacy afforded by the numerous classrooms was a welcome break from the tiny living rooms they usually crowded themselves into.

Once the building had been cleared and she'd settled into an empty chemistry lab, Carol decided it was probably safe enough to wander the building by herself. And if it wasn't safe, well...

She ran into Rick and Daryl as they were scoping out the school auditorium. She spotted the standard cheap school piano on the stage, and wandered toward it in a happy daze. God, how she missed playing piano.

“Do you think it's safe to play it?” she called down to Rick, as she reached toward the keys.

“I think so. The building is cleared, and the noise won't travel far. Go ahead and get 'Chopsticks' out of your system,” he said, his words twisting into derision at the end of his sentence.

She smirked and sat down at the keyboard.

***

A year later and Daryl still remembered every detail of that moment. The way her fingers danced on the keys, hesitantly at first, but with more ease and certainty with each note she played. The stunned look upon Rick's face when he realized that she was actually really, really good. The sound of the music, which was so beautiful that the rest of the group had wandered in before she even finished the first song. The way she'd poured everything she had into playing, and had become so focused that she didn't even notice the audience she'd gained.

No one had even known she could play piano. No one had ever bothered to find out, he supposed.

When she quit for the night, after having played for well over an hour, she had turned to Rick with a look on her face that was something between pride and contempt, and scampered off the stage, retreating into the classroom she'd chosen to be her bedroom for the night. Though she never acknowledged it, she knew everyone underestimated her, and she seemed to enjoy proving them wrong every once in a while. And Daryl was damn proud of her for it.

There was something different about her after that, like something heavy had been lifted off her shoulders. Her smile seemed brighter than usual, if only for a few days.

So when he came across yet another cheap piano in another run-down school while on a run, he knew without a doubt that she'd be with him on his next trip. He'd give anything to see her smile like that again, and this time there wouldn't be anyone there to doubt her.


	5. Providing

They'd missed all the major holidays during that first winter. Not that it bothered Daryl much. Holidays weren't worth looking forward to when you had a family like his.

Nearly everyone else seemed to lament the fact, though. Not getting presents was one thing, but he supposed that memories of holidays that were centered around big family meals would seem extra special to most people during those hard, lean months. 

She'd told him once, during the darkest, coldest part of the winter, that she wished she could cook up a huge holiday meal for everyone. He didn't think any of them deserved it, really. They were always so caught up in their own bullshit that he was sure a gesture like that would go unnoticed by them. The things Carol did were always overlooked, somehow. And anyway, it wasn't like there was anything either of them could do about it. They made do with what they had, and it was never, ever enough.

Her comment popped into his head at random, one early spring day while he was out hunting. He'd bagged a huge turkey, and was making his way back to camp when he spotted some cattails that were just starting to bloom. He quickly cut a few of the stalks off, and decided to do a little more foraging.

A few hours later he approached the camp, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Her look of delight when he handed her the turkey would have been enough, but then he started to unpack the other assorted contents of his bag.

“Cattail flowers,” he said, laying them on the ground. “Boil 'em up and they taste good... almost like corn.”

“Prickly pear cactus lobes... I cleaned the needles out already so you don't have to worry about that. We can eat them fresh, and they taste sort of like lemon... well I think they do, anyway.”

“Daryl, this is-”

“I ain't done,” he interrupted. “Dandelion greens. Poor man's salad. And for dessert, hickory nuts.”

He wasn't sure if the look she was giving him was admiration or exasperation. He didn't stick around to find out.


	6. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daryl gets bad mouthed by one of the new Woodbury people. And Carol, who has been nothing but sweetness to that point, totally lays into that person, defending her pookie

She had hoped that for once Daryl might get a fresh start. The people from Woodbury knew him as Merle's “enemy” brother, of course, but they'd also realized once they got to the prison that the things the Governor told them had been a lie. Maybe they wouldn't hold any animosity toward him.

They didn't know about his past, the reputation his family had, or the anger with which he'd lashed out at everyone when they'd first met him. She hoped that they'd take him at face value and see the gruff but thoughtful man she knew he was.

For the most part, they did. Some people seemed taken aback by his quiet nature, the way he evaded most conversations, and the fact that he spent most of his time at the prison avoiding the new people. But most people appricated the hard work he put into keeping things running, and making sure everyone had enough food to eat.

But there's an exception to every rule, and apparently the exception in this case didn't know of Carol's close relationship to Daryl.  
“What kind of meat is this?” a woman asked as Carol handed her her dinner. She was middle-aged, and looked as though she'd been rather comfortable during her time in Woodbury. Carol was often surprised by how suburban these people still looked.

“It's squirrel,” she answered with a smile. She knew that probably wouldn't go over very well, but food was food.

The disgusted look that crossed the woman's face almost made Carol take the plate back, but she refrained. The woman moved along, grumbling to her friends.

She tried to ignore it as best she could. She'd heard the woman complaining about other things in the prison, but she gave her the benefit of the doubt, telling herself that the woman was still trying to adjust to a new place, and that she'd come around in time. If she wanted to bitch about the food, let her. 

The next day brought more of the same. Daryl had lucked out that morning, managing to snag a few rabbits. But when that same woman came to pick up a plate of it, Carol was greeted with more complaining. She was tuning it out, until she realized that the subject had turned from the quality of the food to the man who always struggled to provide the whole prison with enough to eat.

“Can't that useless piece of white trash bring us anything better?”

Everyone turned to look at Carol as she slammed the metal spoon in her hand against the counter. She didn't know what came over her as she grabbed the woman's arm, and pulled her forward until their faces were just inches from each other.

“You listen here, missy,” she said, ignoring the way the woman was trying to tug her arm back, “You can say whatever you want about my cooking, but if I hear you say one more negative thing about Daryl, you won't have anything to complain about anymore. Because I sure as hell won't be feeding you.”

“We had better food at Woodbury. I didn't have to put up with this shit,” the woman said defiantly.

“Yeah, well, you aren't in Woodbury anymore. Around here we all have to pull our weight, and we do the best we can with what we have. If you don't like the food Daryl brings back then feel free to go hunt down your own. And good luck with that. But if I hear you talking shit about him one more time you will sincerely regret it.”

It was then that she noticed the stares she was getting, and the heat from the pan as she leaned over it. She hastily released the chastised woman's arm, and retreated from the room. It wasn't until she neared the door that she realized that Daryl had seen the whole thing.

She felt her face turn red, and sighed as he followed her to her cell.

“Thought I was gonna get to see a cat fight for a second,” he said, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

“Shut up,” she said, sitting down on her bed.

“Woulda been hot, really. I'd love to see you throw down with someone.”

“I nearly burned myself on the stove. Guess that would have been 'hot'.” She stared at him for a beat. “Did you hear what she said about you?”

He shrugged.

“Don't matter. I don't need you to defend me like I'm some damsel in distress or something.”

She stared at the floor, fighting back a smile.

“But I guess if I was the damsel in distress, I'd have to properly thank you for defending my honor.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he said. 

He took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss against her knuckles. He then dropped her hand, and stepped toward the cell door, blushing fiercely.

“Seriously, that's all I get?” she called out as he retreated.

“For now,” he called out over his shoulder.

She smiled, and laid back on her bunk. Maybe she'd have to get into fights more often.


	7. Australia

She didn't hear it, but she sure as shit felt it. That telltale pull in her groin, the odd feeling of something coming apart between her legs, thread by thread. She'd ripped her pants.

It was no wonder; she wore the same ones every day, and they'd seen more than their fair share of hardships. As she crouched behind the counter she quickly glanced down, assessing the tear. Though the line was creeping backwards toward her ass, it wasn't yet bad enough to warrant her attention, and hiding from the herd of walkers passing by the store in which they were taking shelter seemed much more important at the moment. She ignored it, deciding to let it slide until they had time to address it. 

She felt a few more threads pull the next day, as she was bending down to roll up her sleeping bag. She didn't say anything about it, though. Food had been scarce lately, and she figured they needed to concentrate on that rather than her fraying pants. She didn't want to be a pain in anyone's ass, despite the fact that her own ass was in very real danger of being exposed to the elements at any given moment. 

The next morning Daryl managed to bag a deer. It was small, but it provided enough for everyone to get a decent meal for once. She was leaning over the fire, checking to see if the meat was done yet, when she heard a snicker from behind her. She turned to look, and saw Glenn and Maggie giggling conspiratorially. 

“What?” she asked, slightly annoyed that they were enjoying themselves as she did the cooking as usual.

“Your pants,” Daryl supplied from his place beside them, “There's a hole in them. In the back.”

She couldn't help but notice how red his face was. 

She hadn't felt the tear this time, but sure enough when she reached back to check she found that the entire backside of her pants was torn open on one side, exposing her plain black panties for the entire world to see. It didn't matter much to her. It wasn't like anything too exciting had been exposed. But Daryl blushed harder as she lifted the flap the hole had created.

“Well,” she said, “had to happen eventually.”

“We'll go this afternoon and see if we can't find you something new,” he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

It wasn't until she was climbing behind him on his bike hours later that she realized what it all meant. He had been looking at her ass, maybe even before her pants tore.

She smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Were you enjoying the view?” she asked shifting against the cold leather touching her skin, “Cause I can keep wearing these if you'd prefer that.”

The backs of his ears turned red, and she knew he was blushing again.

“Stop,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Australia? Cause it's about "down under".


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted “How about something Season 2? How would a Caryl bond have begun if Sophia had stayed under the car/Rick brought her back with him right away?” …As a one-shot. And I think I did ok, hah. And for once it isn’t angsty.

The accident Carl had had in the woods was stupid, in his opinion. He'd wandered away from camp by himself, as he seemed to do all too often, and the girl who often acted like his silent shadow had gone with him. She came back alone and bloody, screaming for help, and he and Rick had rushed into the woods immediately. Rick took off with the man who'd accidentally shot Carl, and somehow they'd ended up on this farm while a man they didn't know rooted around the boy's insides, pulling out pieces of shrapnel. It was a horrible situation, but it had landed them a spot in one of the most secure, serene places they'd seen in a while.

The girl wasn't faring too well. He supposed that even with the things she'd no doubt seen in her life, seeing your friend get shot in front of you was probably pretty traumatic. She clung to her mother, even as the boy healed and everyone became more at ease in their new surroundings.

He noticed her, the mother. He didn't think anyone else did. She was damn near invisible to everyone else in the group, though he wasn't sure why. She might not be some wannabe vigilante warrior, but the things she did were no less important than other peoples contributions. She cooked nearly every meal they ate, and always made sure they had clean clothes. She provided the comforts of home as best as she could. No one thanked her except her daughter, but that rarely seemed to bother her. He supposed spending years with an absolute asshole for a husband had taught her not to expect much gratitude. 

It was admirable though, and he wasn't used to being around someone so selfless. He suspected that even if she hadn't been so beaten down, literally and figuratively, she'd probably still be driven to take care of the group. It was just who she was.

They rarely spoke, but he felt himself being drawn to her. There was always a stab of pride when he handed her the game he'd hunted, and she looked at him gratefully. A rush of calmness when she smiled at him for no reason. A hint of pride when her mousey demeanor slipped for a moment, and she threw a sarcastic comment at someone. That was becoming more common as time went on, and he saw the strength that was blooming in her.

She was growing and changing, becoming something more than just a battered housewife. He felt himself wanting to change with her. Maybe together they could be something great.


	9. Slow Burn Part I

She’d been drifting since they’d all be reunited. It was amazing to him how strong she was during the day. Shit needed to get done, and she got it done without saying a word. But at night as they all gathered around the campfire, she’d become quiet and withdrawn. Her suffering was obvious to anyone who cared to notice, and sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who did.

He hated it. He especially hated the uneasy looks half the camp seemed to give her when she wasn’t looking. Rick’s constant attempts to stare her down was the worst, but if all the negative attention bothered her, she never showed it. He supposed that after so many years with Ed, she’d learned to live with the hate.

It was apparent in the way she was staring into the campfire that she had tuned it out that night, if she’d ever been tuned into it in the first place. She sat on a log, slumped over and looking utterly defeated. He’d seen it before: the blank stare, the helpless look upon her face. It was something he’d encountered on countless nights after they’d fled the farm. It had nothing to do with the people around her; she was stuck in the past.

He was tired of it, so tired of not being strong enough to support her. So tired of chickening out instead of doing what was right by her.

So he sat next to her on the log, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She didn’t move for a moment, but he felt something in her shift, like she was coming back to herself, back to the present. She leaned against him after an awkward moment, resting her cheek against his shoulder and breathing him in. 

“I love you,” she mumbled, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it.

He tensed for a moment, trying to find a way to refute that, and coming up with nothing. He relaxed and pressed a kiss to her temple.

She reached over and patted his thigh, and he knew she knew what he was too afraid to say.


	10. Slow Burn Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for me to continue this and I sort of did. Yeah.

Another night, another campfire. She didn't know what they were looking for during their constant trek across the state of Georgia, and she didn't really care. She was trying her best not to think about what she'd done, and the best way to do that was to keep herself occupied with taking care of the group. It was the role she always fell back into, time and time again, and it suited her just fine, even if she was still being treated as a pariah. Work was work, and it kept her sane.

At night, though, after everyone was fed and settling in to sleep or gathering around to discuss their plans, she drifted away by herself and became mired down in her thoughts.

It was hard for her to live with half the group giving her furtive, wary glances, but it was even harder to live with herself. The image of Lizzie's body falling to the ground played over and over in her mind, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She knew Tyreese approved of her actions... or at least didn't disapprove, but it was hard to explain to everyone else what it had really been like. She had been responsible for those girls, and she wondered if shooting her had really been her only choice.  
She was mulling over other possible solutions when she suddenly felt someone wrap their arm around her shoulder. Daryl, she realized after a moment. She hadn't even noticed him, and wondered how long he'd been sitting next to her.

His warmth seeped into her in more ways than one as she rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was dealing with his own shit, but she had been annoyed with him for days for not being able to provide her with the strength she needed. She wondered if that was hypocritical of her, and she found that she didn't care. After everything she'd gone through, she figured it was her turn to be coddled for a while.

Still, it didn't change how she felt about him. She'd give him everything she had, if he was willing to do the same for her. She needed him, and she knew he needed her too.

“I love you,” she murmured absent-mindedly, not even realizing that she'd said it until she felt him tense up. But he didn't retreat the way she expected him to. His grip tightened momentarily on her shoulder, and she patted him on the leg.

They sat like that for a while, his arm slowly slipping down to her hip and her hand resting gently on his thigh, until she realized just how exhausted she was. She glanced at him as she stood up, and knocked the toe of her boot into his.

“Bed?” she asked, and he nodded, looking slightly dumbfounded. 

Their blankets were side by side as usual, but she felt his eyes upon her as she shook them out and piled them on top of each other. He watched her as she slipped between them, and finally moved to join her.

They'd shared a bed before, though not often. It was usually only on extremely cold nights, or when one of them was so emotionally exhausted that they needed the company. She supposed this time could count as the latter, but it felt different to her somehow. She knew he felt the same by how stiffly he was holding himself beside her.

She grabbed his arm and rolled over onto her side, pulling him with her. He hesitated at first, but she didn't relent until he was spooned up behind her, finally gaining the courage to rest his hand firmly against her stomach, just below her breasts. He sighed deeply and relaxed, and she could feel his deep breaths on the back of her neck.

“I love you too,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

He could hear her speaking softly as he approached her from behind. She was sitting on the grave. Her own grave. He found the sight unnerving, as if she'd somehow get sucked down to where they'd all thought she belonged.

He'd taken her out there the first time to visit Lori and T-Dog, but she was more observant than most and her eyes were immediately drawn to the grave marked with a C, and the withered Cherokee rose sitting on top of it.

She looked spooked, and he nodded at her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't speak of it again.

She'd been acting a bit strange since that day, and he'd seen her sitting alone in the graveyard a few times since then. It wasn't until today that he'd seen exactly where she was sitting. It scared him.

The rustling of the grass gave him away, and she turned toward him as he approached. She noticed the wary look upon his face, and smiled softly. He couched down next to her, though he didn't dare step on her grave.

“I know it seems crazy,” she said, “but I used to do this with Sophia, too. I'd sneak to her grave when everyone else was asleep and talk to her.”

“Did you sit on that one too?”

“Yes. Well, actually I'd usually lay down. Is that weird?” she asked, touching the dirt by her knees. Grass was beginning to grow back already. “I guess that's weird. I liked to pretend that she wasn't down there... she was beside me instead.”

He didn't want to judge her, because he knew everyone grieved in different ways. He wondered if years of living with Ed hadn't truly fucked her up in some ways, and maybe this was a manifestation of that. 

“What did you say to her?”

He felt morbid for asking her that, but he'd always been curious about their relationship. He felt bad when he saw her eyes watering. He mumbled an apology, and started to stand, but she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket before he could. He eased back onto his haunches.

“No,” she said, “I'm glad you want to know. Sometimes it feels like everyone else has forgotten she ever existed.”

He nodded at that. He often felt the same, as if her incredible loss hadn't meant anything, hadn't completely changed the group.

“I told her everything. My regrets. My fears. I told her that I was sorry that she'd had to witness the things her father did to me, but I was so, so proud of her for being such a sweet, kind person despite all that.”

“She took after her mama,” Daryl said, and she laughed, and then began to cry in earnest. He let her for a while. It made him uncomfortable, but maybe if she got it out of her system she'd spend a little less time sitting in graveyards.

“So who are you talking to out here?” he asked, eventually.

“Oh!” she said, laughing and wiping the tears from her face, “Myself, actually. Well, dead me.”

“Your... dead you?”

“Yeah. Christ, now I do sound crazy. Down there, that's the old me. Poor, scared little Carol, too afraid to stand up for herself. Never taking care of herself. Always fucking crying. And here I am crying again.”

“You do cry a lot,” he agreed. 

She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “I know! I'm trying to stop that. I don't want to be that person anymore. She's weak, and I want to kill her before her weakness kills me.”

The conversation was making him too uncomfortable, and he knew she could tell, because she fell silent. From the looks she gave him as he helped her stand he knew she was worried that he thought she was nuts. But he didn't think that at all. He understood, even if her methods did seem bizarre. Sometimes you just had to cut off the more vulnerable parts of yourself, or at least bury them under layers of something else. He'd been doing it for most of his life. Still, there was something about her thought process that ate away at him, and after mulling it over for a few days, he finally had to say something.

He stopped by her cell late one night, after everyone had gone to bed. He didn't want anyone else to know what she'd been doing, and he certainly didn't want them to hear what he was going to say.

She was reading a book by candlelight when he paused at her door. She smiled at him and set the book aside.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he responded, and shuffled his feet awkwardly at the door before finally entering her cell. He sat down at the foot of her bed and picked at his nails. Finally he gathered the courage to speak.

“I'm going to tell you something, and you're going to listen.”

“I always listen to you,” she said softly.

He blushed, but he forged on despite his discomfort.

“Look, what you said the other day... on your... in the graveyard. I don't think you know... You ain't that Carol no more, but you were never weak. Afraid, yeah, but not weak. You couldn't be. What you've been through... you're tougher than half this damn group.”

She huffed at that.

“No,” she said, “I'm too... soft. Still.”

He shook his head.

“Thing is, I know you think it's a weakness, but your... feelings, even the crying shit, that ain't you being weak. Because even when you spend the night crying, the next day you get up and give everything you have to everyone else. And they don' fucking deserve it, but you give it to them anyway because that's who you are. You wouldn't care about no one else if you weren't strong. You'dve checked out a long time ago.”

She shook her head, still not taking in what he was saying.

“You... you're what keeps us human. We need that in this world. That's why- I mean, you're so-”

He cut himself off, suddenly afraid of where the conversation was going, but by the look on her face he figured she knew what he was trying to say. She patted the bed beside her, and he sat obediently. He tried not to flinch as she reached for his hand.

“I just... I'd hate to see you lose that part of you. You gotta be strong, you do. But we- I need you to just... be who you are. Who you've always been.”

She started crying again, and this time he didn't mind so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got weird and kind of OOC, but I liked the idea of Carol sitting on Sophia's grave and talking to her. And also the idea of her being completely disturbed by her own grave, and it being there making her think too much. So I threw them together.  
> I feel like other characters were allowed the opportunity to grieve in weird ways (Rick being the biggest example of that... probably overboard there, Officer Dickface) but Carol was... not really allowed to grieve at all. She has her moment of horror and then goes back to taking care of everyone else, and I spend probably too much time wondering about that. A lot of the things that make her interesting are so glossed over, so... I guess that's where this weirdness came from. I'd love to see more fics tackle that issue. ....Wow y'all get gold stars if you bothered to read this.


	12. Fold

She'd told him once that the worst moment of her life, aside from the obvious, was a car accident she'd been in when she was 12 years old. Her brother had been killed, and she said she'd never been able to get the sounds out of her head. He wondered how this compared.

The van had rolled onto his side after it hit the ground, but despite that he didn't seem to have any major injuries. He wondered if the pain would come later, but at the moment he felt nothing aside from some bruises, and a raw spot where the seatbelt had jerked against him. His head was spinning though, and it took him a moment to register her ragged breaths coming in short, sharp pants beside him.

She was hanging awkwardly in her seat, looking more than a little shell shocked. Her seatbelt had kept her in place, but with the angle she was caught in her head and legs were dangling in a way that had to be anything but comfortable. Her hands were gripping the arms rests tightly, knuckles white. She looked like he felt: a little battered and bruised, but mostly ok. They'd both seen worse. He brushed some loose shards of glass off himself.

She looked sharply at him as he moved, wide eyes full of disbelief.

“You ok?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Fine,” he said, scrambling to unbuckle the seatbelt so that he could help her.

“Are you?” he asked belatedly. 

She nodded, but he was concerned when her breathing became irregular. A few seconds passed before he realized that she was laughing quietly. 

“Jesus Christ,” she said, “Did that really happen? Did we just do that? That was insane.” 

He blew out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It would have been ridiculous to die in a fucking car crash after everything they'd been through, but the fact that they were both alive and relatively unharmed was, well, pretty damn unbelievable. He'd say it was a miracle, if he believed in that sort of thing.

“Best roller coaster ride I've ever been on,” she said, still laughing as she reached for her seatbelt buckle. “Shit, I'm stuck.”

“Hang on,” he said, pulling his knife out, “I got you.”

He carefully cut at the strap, but paused as it made an ominous creaking sound, and started to give. She made a startled sound as her body lurched toward his.

“You finish,” he said, handing her the knife.

He braced her as she finished the task, his arms around her shoulders and under her legs. She began to laugh again as the strap finally gave way and she dropped against him.

He didn't know if it was the persistent dizziness or the way his whole body was shaking with the adrenaline, but as her body jerked down against his he lost his balance, and she ended up on the ground. Her weight had pulled him down too, and he found himself half laying on her, one arm under her neck, and the other braced next to her head. Somehow, miraculously, the window on that side had cracked but not shattered, and he felt lucky that he didn't end up with a palm full of glass.

He laughed with her this time, guiltily enjoying the feeling of her body pressed under his, shaking with mirth and probably a million other things.

“Jesus.... Fuck,” she said, and her profanity didn't startle him nearly as much as the sensation of her hands suddenly winding their way into his hair.

She pulled him down against her, and all rational thought flew from his mind when her lips pressed tightly against his. He kissed her back without hesitation, opening his mouth to hers and feeling her tongue slide urgently against his. His hands gripped her short hair and then trailed down her body, ghosting across her breasts and down her stomach until he reached her hips, and pulled them tight against his.

She moaned and arched up, wrapping her legs around his, but they both froze as they heard a sound outside. Their heads both whipped toward the windshield. Walkers were making their way toward the van, no doubt attracted by the sound of it crashing. There weren't many, yet... nothing they couldn't handle at least, but more would be on the way. Time to go.

He was panting and disoriented as he pulled himself off her and grabbed at her backpack, practically shoving it into her arms as he reached for their weapons. He'd never kissed a woman like that. He hoped he'd be able to do it again.

The door on the back of the van was jammed, but he managed to kick it open and climb out just as the first few walkers reached them. She was right behind him, quick with her knife as she burst ahead of him, clearing her way through them as she went.

“Come on, slow poke!” she shouted, grinning over her shoulder.

He grinned back at her and then ran after her, catching her hand in his and running alongside her as they made their way to safety.

As crazy as it seemed, maybe this car crash was one of the best moments of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a spoilery Tumblr post I made: "After the group is reunited, Carol’s probably still going to be in a world of pain. Obviously we don’t know exactly how badly she’s hurt, but she got hit by a fucking car so I doubt she’ll be out running laps or whatever.  
> I want to see Daryl taking care of her, like, gently helping her change clothes and climb into bed. I want it obvious that they both know that she doesn’t really need that kind of assistance, but he’s doing it because he loves her, and she’s letting him because she wants the comfort."

It hurt to move. Once the immediate danger was over and her adrenaline dropped, the pain hit her full force. Carol would be perfectly happy if she never went anywhere near a car for the rest of her life.

Her face hurt, her shoulders ached something awful (one had popped out of its socket; she'd managed to pop it back in, but the horrible grinding sensation that lingered reminded her of so many nights spent in Ed's clutches), and her right hip was so sore that she couldn't walk without a significant limp. She'd had worse, but the bruises and scrapes were impressive to say the least. She was grateful when they'd found a house to hole up in for the night and she was afforded a rare luxury: a room to herself.

She was struggling to remove her pants when Daryl came in, quietly shutting the door behind him. He eyeballed the pajama pants she'd placed next to her on the bed, and then glanced at the sliver of bruised skin that appeared as she continued to tug at her waistband. She expected him to look away in embarrassment, but he didn't. Instead he walked slowly toward her and gently pushed her hands to the side, away from her futile effort to pull the pants over her hips. She flopped back onto the mattress, annoyed with herself, but didn't take her eyes off Daryl as he scooped an arm under her thighs and lifted them off the bed, slowly easing her pants over her hips and down her legs. His hands lingered at her ankles before he reached for the pajama pants sitting beside her on the bed and carefully slid them up her legs. 

He reached for her shirt next. She sat up to make it easier for him, and he tugged the hem up and over her head, carelessly tossing the shirt on the floor once it was off. It was a bit startling, the absolute lack of hesitation. He didn't even seem embarrassed. He ran his fingers across her collarbones and fiddled with the straps of her worn out bra. She shivered at the sensation.

“On or off?” he asked.

She hesitated, but sleeping in a bra even when she didn't feel like shit wasn't exactly comfortable.

“Off,” she said.

His fingers trailed around her shoulders until they reached the clasp. He didn't break eye contact the whole time, but his serious expression faltered when he struggled to unhook it. She laughed and reached back to help him. He kept his eyes her face as he slipped the bra off her shoulders, but couldn't seem to help himself as he took a quick peek down. She grinned and poked him in the shoulder, and he slumped backward as he reached for the teeshirt she'd set next to her on the bed.

“Sorry,” he said as she lifted her arms into the air.

“Maybe I like you ogling me,” she replied, though her voice was muffled as he tugged the shirt over her head.

He sighed.

“Stop.”

She smiled as he placed his hand on her waist and supported her as she scooted back on the mattress. His fingers stroked her side as her head found the pillow. She expected him to move away, but he didn't. Just stared at her with a serious expression, before finally breaking into a tiny smile.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“As much as I can be, I think.”

His fingers tightened just a bit on her waist, and she reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her. Their lips met as if it was something they'd done a million times. His hand creeped up her ribs, and that's when Rick walked through the door.

They pulled apart, but Daryl didn't go far. His hand where it was.

“Shit,” Rick said, “Sorry.”

Daryl shook his head, and his fingers traced the inside of Carol's arm.

“Um, can I talk to you, Daryl?” Rick asked, and Daryl nodded, finally pulling away from her.

He pulled the blankets up to her chin, tucking her in with such tenderness that her eyes watered. He kissed her forehead softly before heading toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he said.


End file.
